


The Desolation of... Smaug

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin finds something unexpected in the cinema when he's cleaning up. Or rather, someone unexpected. Or rather, the someone isn't known to him, but the state the guy's in is unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desolation of... Smaug

Merlin picked up another discarded popcorn container, making his way slowly down the aisles, hoping the guy sat at the front would get the point soon and move along. He’s still sat there, even though the credits have rolled all the way through and all the lights come up. Everyone else has left, it’s just him. And Merlin. Merlin takes his time, but eventually he has to do the front and he comes face to face with the guy. 

Face to swollen, tear streaked, stricken face. 

“Oh,” Merlin says, surprised. 

The guy’s got big shoulders, muscles, looks well dressed, probably fairly well off, fairly sporty and macho. Crying had not been one of Merlin’s guesses. And Merlin’s guesses had ranged from ‘he fell asleep’, ‘he’s texting’ all the way through to ‘he died’, ‘he really desperately has to pee/already peed himself’.

“Shut up,” the man croaks, ducking his head, “it was sad.”

“It has that reputation,” Merlin admits, taking the seat next to the guy. 

He could use a break, it’s really late, there’s nothing more to do except clean up and close the theatre, and there’s no one waiting on Merlin. 

“You haven’t seen it?” the guy says, voice catching a little. 

“Nope,” Merlin says, “I’m more into the indie/arty stuff we play here.”

“But… it’s Tolkien.”

“Yes.”

“Did you at least see the others?”

“I think I saw a bit of one of them. Maybe. Not sure. My friend used to have the audiobook on cassette when we were small, I might’ve heard a bit?”

“You haven’t even read it?” 

The guy turns on Merlin, eyes wide with amazement. He’s clutching a box of popcorn and Merlin realises that the reason he was gripping it so tight against him was because his hands are trembling. He loosens his grip in his surprise at Merlin’s lack of Tolkien cred and Merlin can see the shakes clearly. 

“Nope,” Merlin admits, sitting back and tucking up one leg, “is it any good?”

“…good,” the guy says, “it’s… it’s… it’s absolutely superb. The writing might not be the most… the poetry is… truly dreadful, really, completely… but it’s inspired and wonderful and I don’t care what R.R Martin says, because Tolkien wrote about the war and the battles and Aragorn’s growth into his role, not his reign, so brushing over Aragorn’s ideas on tax is pretty irrelevant. Also, appendix B does go into his reign, to an extent, and talks about restoring treasures, setting up councils, divisions of power, loads of stuff. R.R Martin just hasn’t read enough. Plus, Tolkien writes it like a historical, not a political, text. That’s a choice, not a failing.”

“…right,” Merlin says, “R.R Martin. Who’s she?”

“He. George R.R Martin wrote the adequate ‘Ice and Fire’ trilogy and now thinks he has the authority to comment on all and every sci-fi/fantasy author ever. He kills lots of people and thinks that makes his books realistic.”

“Wow, you don’t like him, huh?”

“I have only read some, and I haven’t even seen a full episode of the TV series. His writing isn’t bad and some of it is interesting, it’s an interesting concept. I’m not commenting on his books, just his irritating behaviour. Honestly, to compare yourself to Tolkien is the epitome of foolish arrogance and is sure to lead to a fall. Greek tragedy and all that.”

“Are you feeling better, now?”

“No. I am holding you up, I realise, but I am aware of how much of an ugly crier I am.”

“Yup,” Merlin agrees, nodding. 

The man gives him a scandalised look, but then stares miserably into his popcorn, clutching it close again. He shuts his eyes and more tears drip down over his pink face. 

“Oh no, don’t start again,” Merlin says, “it can’t have been that sad.”

“Probably not. It’s just… it’s the end of this part of Middle Earth.”

“Um… okay? Was… like, an apocalypse? Or something? I… I really, really am not well informed about this film.”

“You’re a pleb. You’re awful.”

“Hey! You know, you’re one to talk. It’s been out for ages, we always show this shit late, so it’s cheaper.”

“I have been away. I’ve seen it in Swedish and German and Farsi dubs, and I speak Farsi and German, but I haven’t seen it in English yet.”

“Impressive amount of languages.”

“I know it’s daft to cry this much. It’s… The first Lord of the Rings came out when I was still a pimply, incredibly geeky teenager. We all dressed up and went to the first viewing near our house. I made my costume.”

“Who were you?”

“Not that you’d even know! I was Saruman. Obviously, because Christopher Lee is an absolute fucking legend.”

“Mm, I can agree with that, anyway.”

“I read the books when I was really small, and read them over and over since. I dressed up as the characters for Halloween, I’ve read the appendices for heaven’s sake! I read the Silmarilion and everything I could get my hands on. I’ve read Tolkien’s letters, a biography, several bits about the Inklings. I’ve been to Oxford, I’ve visited the set in New Zealand, I know half of Wales by the Tolkien names we gave it. There’s this cove, no idea what it is really, but we used to call it Hobbiton because of this hill behind it.”

“You are a complete geek.”

“I know. These guys, the characters, they’ve been my friends, though. I mean real, loyal friends who listen to me. I have sat with them for hours, I’ve shared miseries with them. I made myself my own ‘Sting’. I’ve battled the giant spiders, I learnt the history of the world like it was real. I’ve drawn endless pictures of the place and the people.”

“It’s important to you.”

“It’s like when you grow up in a place and it gets into your blood and bones. Granny Aching, you know? Had the hills in her bones. Well, I never had a place, except Middle Earth. That’s in my bones.”

“Granny Aching I know,” Merlin says. 

“I don’t usually talk this much.”

“I’m Merlin. I usually talk a whole lot more.”

“Arthur.”

Merlin holds out his hand and Arthur shakes it, his own hand still trembling finely. His eyelashes are damp with tears and once he’s shook Merlin’s hand he bends forwards and wipes gingerly at his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Merlin asks, because as much as a book can mean something to you, and as sad as people dying on TV can be, this seems an extreme reaction.

“Yeah. Fili’s death was brutal.”

“And…?”

Arthur looks up and looks at Merlin for a really, really long time, pink eyes boring into Merlin’s, assessing, looking for something. He must find it because he gives a decisive nod and turns away, slumping back into his seat. 

“It’s a bit strange, watching people die on that screen up there, months after watching them die in real life.”

“You’re a soldier,” Merlin guesses.

“I was.”

“That changed?”

“There’s only so much death one can take.”

Merlin nods. They sit in silence for a while and Merlin watches Arthur, because Arthur’s got his head back and his eyes closed and so he can’t see Merlin studying him. Even though he is, as he stated, an ugly crier, the puffiness of his face and the awry line of his mouth are combated by the strength of his jaw and nose and Merlin can see a strange kind of beauty in him. Half the proper English boy, pale and pink cheeked, but half something else, something more.

Merlin thinks it might be the way Arthur’s handsomeness is buried beneath a layer of tired, sweaty, tear stains. He looks awful, but that draws attention to the lines of his face, the curve of his lip, the wideness of his mouth. Draws attention away from his classical beauty and makes him younger, open, raw, and that’s beautiful. 

“I am disappointed that Peter Jackson chose to be so self-indulgent. He doesn’t seem to have given himself such strict… stuff. I mean, the storyline has a lot that’s not necessary or interesting. Like Alfrid. Like the long death scenes for Kili and Thorin. Like Legolas’s fighting. He’s just wallowed in… sometimes less is more, you know? Fili’s death was like death. Sudden, unstoppable. It was over before you realised it was going to happen.”

“Tell you what,” Merlin says, “Let me close up and finish cleaning and shutting everything down, then I’ll pop out for chips and we can watch… I dunno, ‘How to Train your Dragon’ or something.”

“I… are you allowed to do that?”

“I’ll just rig up a connection between my projector and my laptop. I have loads of stuff downloaded. What do you like, other than Tolkien?”

“Pushing Daisies.”

“I have all of that! I love it, it’s amazing! And Lee Pace is so lovely and hot and… right. I’m kind of gay.”

“Oh. Cool. Lee Pace is in this, that’s what made me think of it.”

“Oh really? I might watch it after all.”

“He rides an elk.”

Merlin, imagining Ned riding about on a moose (he’s not sure what an elk is), starts to giggle. He hops up and pats Arthur’s head, forgetting for a moment that ‘personal boundaries’ are a thing in most people’s worlds, and then hurries to finish up. 

Watching TV with Arthur, it turns out, is… dramatic. Arthur’s noisy. He laughs too loudly, comments on things that happen, moves around a lot, laughs before the joke is told, and is basically like a five years old. Once, at least, he manages to throw his subdued mood. Merlin finds it far too adorable for his own good. 

“Thank you for this,” Arthur says, after the second episode, “I’m still trying to reconnect with my mates back here. Most of the people I’ve spent any time with recently are still in the army. I would have been going home to an empty flat to cry all over Tumblr.”

“I think that’s kind of a normal reaction to this film, if my dash is anything to go by. People seem to be doing a lot of that.”

“Well, thank you all the same. I know that I have been far from attractive tonight, but you have been… impossibly kind and gracious and all kinds of attractive, so I must ask you out on a date. But I understand if the answer is no.”

“The answer is yes. Obviously. I don’t do this for every sobbing bloke I come across.”

“Is that something that happens often?”

“Not really, to be honest. You’re uniquely pathetic, mate.”

“It is not pathetic to cry. Tumblr tells me that real men are not ashamed to cry.”

“Tumblr tells me that I have beautiful boobs.”

Arthur laughs, and it’s surprised and genuine and lights up his face.

“I am totally going to keep you, Merlin. Come for drinks at the Village Friday?”

“Sure. I’m working here till six, so can we say… eight?”

“Kay.”

Arthur gathers his things and leads the way out to the street, waiting for Merlin to switch things off and get his own stuff and lock up. Merlin wonders if Arthur’s expecting a kiss, but in the end Arthur just smiles at him, takes a last, slightly shaky breath, and then claps him on the shoulder and leaves abruptly. Merlin stares after him before running home, too excited to walk like a normal human being, to tell Gwaine everything and boast.

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER! I have not read George RR Martin or seen the TV series, I do not share Arthur's opinions, it is repeated from a friend who ranted at me. I see it as payment for me listening patiently to the rant, so now it is mine to do as I please with! The rant, I mean. So I stuck it in Arthur's mouth. But, I know NOTHING about GoT or the universe or the author. 
> 
> (Arthur's reaction to The Hobbit, however... might just be embarrassingly close to... yeah. Yup.)


End file.
